


Hunters and Foxes

by sdeer



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 03:15:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10376619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdeer/pseuds/sdeer
Summary: There's something gentle and sweet and forgiving in the night air, something that smells like old love and new beginnings, something that tells him those eight years were worth waiting.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [kpopolymfics2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/kpopolymfics2017) collection. 



> This fic was written for K-Pop Olymfics 2017. Olymfics is a challenge in which participants write fics based on prompt sets and compete against other teams of writers, organized by genre. 
> 
> This is Team Future's fic for the following prompt set:  
>  **Winner – "Sentimental"**  
> [lyrics](https://colorcodedlyrics.com/2016/01/winner-sentimental-senchihae) | [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OV9NJGTLm-4) | [supplementary](https://m.flickr.com/#/photos/wang_wei/8455784548/) [prompts](https://66.media.tumblr.com/7c9d1e4d1e88e3244329429a0f6c2609/tumblr_oh4ha6h6pW1v9m0i0o1_500.jpg)
> 
> The other 2 fics for this prompt can be found in [the collection](https://http://archiveofourown.org/collections/kpopolymfics2017). Competition winners are chosen by the readers, so please rate this fic using [this survey](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1vG1b318aJTB7p2KlqmKhv-0hNDoxmg8gaiXQyciGJBA/viewform?edit_requested=true)!

[ prologue ]

 

Early morning light floods the airport, sunrise draping everything in a coat of gold. Yifan walks against the light, a bit dizzy from the gleam of the sun, the buzz of the airport coming to life, and too little sleep over too many nights.

 

When he’s crowded by a rush of fans that must have left their homes at ridiculous hours in the morning to get here, he doesn’t hear “he’s so handsome” or “the lighting is perfect” - he hears “don’t listen to them” and “don’t be afraid, do anything you want”. Yifan is a little confused, but between ten years in the industry and his increasingly bothersome headache, he doesn’t make much of it.

 

“You all be good and don’t fight with them, okay?” Yifan turns around to smile at them, then puts on a serious face and looks down into the camera lens of their filming phones. “Or if you really have to, make sure you win.”

 

They laugh and remind him to “eat and get rest” as they always do, and Yifan’s led out of the airport building by his assistant. Seated inside the van, Yifan rolls down his window and waves at them.

 

“Shanghai is hot during the summer, isn’t it?” he calls out as the van joins the slow-moving flow of cars headed out into the busy roads. “Drink water and take care of yourselves!”

 

When his waving fans disappear from view, Yifan rolls his window back up, shaking his head with a smile. Thank you for staying with me all this time, he thinks. He’s more grateful for these girls who call themselves ‘Meigenis’ than he’s ever been willing to say.

 

In the year 2022, Wu Yifan is a name known fondly far and wide across the world. In this time, he’s bought another apartment across Beijing, moved out of both, switched into a remarkably more expensive apartment community in Guangzhou, then bought a three-story single house in Shanghai bigger than all three of his old apartment quarters put together.

 

A handful of media recently had the idea to compile and publish the places he’s lived over the years, and the most common response to all this was simply, “wow, he’s rich”. Although Yifan has never publicly addressed why he moves around so much, he thinks he has a pretty good idea. 

 

It’s because nowhere really feels like home.

 

There is never a light waiting for him when he opens the door, and it quietly breaks his heart.

 

-

 

A month later comes July, arguably the hottest time of year in Shanghai, and Yifan’s new movie begins filming today. His assistant comes by to pick him up at six on the dot.

 

“Good morning, filming starts today!” Wanyu says cheerfully, pressing an iced coffee into Yifan’s hand as she walks him down the steps of his house and towards the waiting van. “Are you ready?”

 

“Sure,” Yifan says, holding the cold drink against his face and adjusting the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder. He doesn’t understand Wanyu’s high energy. “I landed back in Shanghai at two in the morning, it’s six now. Leave me alone.”

 

“I know,” Wanyu grins, opening the door to the second row and watching him get inside. She walks around the back of the van and climbs into the passenger seat, then quietly reminds the driver of their destination. “I had to pick you up from the airport myself, remember?”

 

“How do you do this?” Yifan asks tiredly, sipping his coffee through the straw with his eyes closed. “You get even less sleep than I do.”

 

“Coffee and habit, boss,” Wanyu laughs. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

 

Yifan knows he’s going to be in even worse shape if he falls asleep now, so he takes out his script and filming schedule from the bottom of his bag to look over once more. ‘Sentimentalist’ is one of Yifan’s favourites out of the countless scripts he’s been handed over the years, and however exhausted he is, he’s truly looking forward to filming.

 

The movie stars two male leads, and although it has essentially nothing to do with romance, there’s sure to be an audience that will enjoy seeing them together.

 

Yifan admits that when he first heard Wanyu sum up the plot a few weeks ago, he thought it was repetitive and almost ridiculous - ‘Xuqing’, who lives in the woods at the foot of a mountain, and ‘Hesong’, a young artist who runs away from home, meet in ancient China, and ‘Hesong’ is murdered unexpectedly; rebirthed, ‘Hesong’ in modern China and ‘Xuqing’ in modern America, they meet again as lawyer and client.

 

“That sounds like some kind of overused fanfiction plot,” Yifan remembers saying to her.

 

“Maybe it’s not the grandest movie you’ve filmed,” Wanyu had forcefully put the script into Yifan’s hands. “But give it a shot, boss, I wouldn’t drive all the way from my house to yours to give you a badly written script.”

 

So Yifan spent the day reading, and he’d fallen in love with its simplicity and humanity. He had seen something familiar in the characters.

 

But as Yifan’s looking over the script again, his eye catches on a few pages in the front he hadn’t bothered to read before, with drafting dates and overviews, and a sheet that looks as if it’s been newly bound in, with a list of the confirmed cast, director and screenwriter and all. It’s not a surprise when Yifan sees his own name next to ‘Xuqing’, but the name underneath makes him look twice: ‘Hesong - Huang Zitao’.

 

“Oh my god - ” Yifan feels the air knock out of his chest. “Lin Wanyu!” 

 

“Yes, boss?” Wanyu turns around to look at him. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Tao is the other lead? What - I didn’t know, you didn’t either? Is this why all my fans have been purifying my trending searches like crazy? They’ve been telling me for a month not to mind what people are saying about me and just do what I want, is this why? Lin Wanyu - ”

 

“Boss! Boss, stop yelling, just for a minute - ” Wanyu buries her face in her hands, then peeks up at Yifan through her fingers. “I know you wanted this role really badly, okay? You wanted this role more than I’ve ever seen you want anything in the five years I’ve been your assistant and you’re turning thirty-two this year, isn’t is silly to let something that happened when you were my age stop you from taking this movie?”

 

“Wanyu, do you have any idea what people are going to say?”

 

“Boss, since when did you care about ‘what people are going to say’?”

 

“Maybe I just don’t want to see him again, have you thought about that?”

 

“Now you’re just making up excuses, boss.”

 

“I’m not making up any excuses.”

 

“Pardon me, boss, but you act like a child every time Zitao-ge comes up.”

 

“Wanyu, please - ”

 

Their van turns into the parking lot of the first filming set, an office building that stands at least twenty stories tall, sunlight reflecting prettily off its exterior.

 

“You’re not going to quit your role, and Zitao-ge isn’t going to quit his either,” Wanyu says, her voice softer now that Yifan seems to actually be listening. “So just get in there and be a professional actor, okay? I have to go pick some things up for you in half an hour but I’ll be back here at around three, just text me if you need anything before I get back.”

 

“Alright,” Yifan relents after a moment. “Okay.”

 

“I’ll walk you inside the building,” Wanyu smiles at him, then turns to the driver. “Please wait here for a few minutes, I’ll be right back out.”

 

Yifan’s shaking as he moves towards the building, and Wanyu has to take his coffee cup from him to stop the ice cubes from rattling against the plastic, then takes his script and filming schedule to tuck back inside his bag in fear he’ll drop the papers altogether.

 

Wanyu accompanies Yifan inside, away from the summer heat, and up the elevators to the top floor where the far wall is made of glass, giving the impression of a window stretching from floor to ceiling. Dim chatter and the occasional raised voice is what relieves them from the silence when the elevator doors open, and with cameras and lights being set up and machines and props being unwrapped and bags piled up against the back wall and staff milling about, the place is almost hectic, but Yifan sees Zitao first.

 

Zitao stands there speaking to the screenwriter with the script in his hands, a little taller and a little broader than Yifan last remembered, sunlight outlining him in gold, and something begins pounding inside Yifan’s chest in a way it hasn’t for years.

 

Yifan lets Wanyu leave to run her errands after coming along with him to greet the director and a handful of actors he recognizes. Then he begins to walk towards Zitao, who’s now bent slightly over a row of cushioned seats, shuffling through his backpack for something.

 

When Yifan gets to Zitao, he drops his script with a heavy ‘thud’ next to him. Zitao startles and looks up straight into Yifan’s eyes, and Yifan suddenly draws a complete blank.

 

Zitao has become even more handsome, his features softer and more mature, as if time has only washed gently over him and took care to be kind. Up close, the sunlight pouring through the glass behind them seems to have seeped underneath Zitao’s skin, and Yifan can’t for the life of him remember what he was planning to say.

 

Was it ‘why are you here’ or was it ‘long time no see’?

 

It isn’t until Zitao nods a hasty hello and moves away with his backpack that Yifan remembers.

 

It was just ‘hey’.

 

It’s the director’s voice that brings him back.

 

Filming starts off with scenes shot along hallways and inside a few of the offices, meaning that there isn’t much pressure on the cast just yet, but almost all of the actors have scenes together. It’s to “build up chemistry gradually and naturally”, as the director had explained.

 

Yifan changes into four different suits and gets his hair restyled twice, and he’s done by early afternoon, almost an hour earlier than scheduled. He sits quietly by himself in one of the single couches set in the open space near the elevators, keeping himself busy by watching the cast work while he waits for Wanyu to come pick him up.

 

He had no scenes with Zitao today.

 

-

 

Over the next two weeks, the cast is in and out of office buildings, courtrooms, and apartments all around Shanghai, and the filming begins to demand more out of the actors. Being co-leads, Yifan and Zitao share a fair amount of screentime, but the most emotionally charged scenes are still waiting.

 

Yifan still looks for something in Zitao’s eyes when they film together, something that tells him they are worth another shot, but the more he looks, the less he sees of the boy he remembers. 

 

On set, they are so earnest and professional that even initially curious cast members lose interest, but it makes Yifan feel silly, because it seems that after all this time, he is the only one who still reacts so strongly to it all.

 

Off set, they don’t say more than to pass on words from others: “the director’s taking the cast out to dinner tomorrow night”, “your assistant was looking for you”, “the screenwriter wants to talk to you after lunch break”.

 

But Zitao never once meets Yifan’s eye, and Yifan cannot bring himself to smile at him.

 

Zitao is twenty-nine now and Yifan notices that he holds everyone at a distance, reserved and polite; he only posts about work and fans on his social media, no longer any newly bought name brands or expressions of frustration posted and deleted in a hurry; when he gets to the set early in the morning, he sits alone reading a book, his phone and cap put aside, but earbuds plugged in; his laughs and smiles are hard to come by, and Yifan knows he’s not putting on a show.

 

Zitao has grown up quietly during the years Yifan has been averting him, and what begins to keep Yifan lying awake at night is not the light in Zitao’s eyes as he brings ‘Hesong’ to life, nor the skipping beats of his own heart when Zitao comes too close to him, but the thought - “I promised him I’d grow up with him”.

 

And Yifan will fix his pillow and adjust the temperature and shut his eyes tightly looking for sleep, but he still ends up staring at his bedroom ceiling in the dark, thinking of Zitao and the eight years they have been apart.

 

It’s all his fault, Yifan thinks one night as the clock strikes two. I’d almost forgotten him already, why did he have to come back and ruin everything?

 

But as Yifan curls into himself, Zitao’s smile playing back over and over in his head, he feels something tightening infinitely inside his chest and he knows he was never even close to forgetting about him. It’s simply that he has learned to pretend, but then again, Yifan has never been good at hiding from Zitao.

 

Nothing happens, but Weibo is brimming.

 

Yifan remembers to take a look the following night, and he’s slightly taken aback by how angry his fans and Zitao’s fans both are; then he thinks about how he and Zitao can hardly look each other in the eye off set, and he can’t help but laugh, albeit sadly.

 

“You know,” Yifan says softly, even though nobody’s around to hear him in the dead of night. “I kind of wish we were still as angry at each other as you guys are.”

 

-

 

The cast flies out to Guilin together another few days later, and a few vans come to drive the big group to their hotel, a truck following to carry their suitcases.

 

It’s a lovely summer night, the air humid but sweet, soft breezes ruffling shirts. It puts Yifan at ease, but it also makes him feel just a little bit lonely.

 

Wanyu will be joining the cast in Guilin in a week and a half. Yifan had taken advantage of the three-hour plane ride and gotten some sleep, but he’d woken up once about an hour into the flight and slipped his eye mask up over his forehead, gaze catching on Zitao across the aisle.

 

Zitao had been hunched over his script, highlighting lines and adding notes to the margins. Yifan watched him quietly for a while, then pulled his eye mask down over his eyes again and went back to sleep.

 

In the hotel now, all gathered in the lobby, the director goes over tomorrow briefly and wishes everyone a good night’s rest: “Everyone get some sleep tonight, okay? Tomorrow's an easy day, but every day after that for the next three weeks we're here will be quite loaded, so be prepared.”

 

There are little encouraging smiles throughout the cast as suitcases are claimed through one of the hotel’s side doors, staff members distributing key cards and people beginning to make their way up to their rooms.

 

Zitao is three or four rooms down the hall from Yifan, and Yifan admits he’s tempted to walk over and knock, but of course, he doesn’t.

 

-

 

“Cut!” 

 

The usually sweet-tempered director is starting to lose patience. She rips out her earpiece and curls her microphone away from her mouth, excusing the cameras up close to Yifan and Zitao.

 

“Look, okay?” The director keeps her voice low, but Yifan can’t help but feel nervous. “I don't care what you two have to figure out on your own, but right now, you are actors, and you're wasting time. I need you both to focus, can you focus?"

 

Yifan and Zitao stand there like children being scolded by a schoolteacher, and after another two mediocre takes, the director gives up and tells everyone to move on.

 

“We’ll redo this scene tomorrow, and again every day after that for as long as we need to,” the director says through gritted teeth. “If it still isn’t perfect by the time we leave Guilin, we’ll just have to settle with the best take.”

 

There is one thing the director doesn’t say, but Yifan knows - though this is a temperate scene, when ‘Hesong’ opens his mouth for the first time and tells ‘Xuqing’ why he ran away, it must be detailed to perfection because it is intended to reveal character for the first time, setting up for development throughout the movie; this means it is entirely possible for Yifan and Zitao to ruin the film altogether if they cannot get this just right. 

 

The cast only has two weeks left in Guilin, and Yifan knows he can do better than this, but he can’t focus to calm himself down enough. He blames Zitao for distracting him.

 

After the filming day ends, to Yifan’s surprise, Zitao approaches him first.

 

It shocks him even more when Zitao says, “Do you want to meet after dinner and go over our lines?”

 

Yifan looks at him for a moment, words and feelings a tangled, inseparable mess inside his head and chest. 

 

“Okay,” he says.

 

-

 

Zitao follows Yifan to his room after dinner, a few steps behind him. Neither of them talk.

 

“You can sit there,” Yifan says, gesturing towards the two single armchairs set up on either side of a small, glass-topped table. He busies himself with turning on every light in the room as Zitao sits down with his script in his hands.

 

Yifan stops with the lights after a minute despite his growing discomfort of nerve, pulling out his own copy of the script and taking a seat across from Zitao - who had the good sense to flag the scene they tripped up on too many times that day with a bright blue sticky note.

 

“Page thirty-six,” Zitao says softly, tapping at the small number in the bottom corner. “We should practice this for tomorrow.”

 

And so they begin, picking apart their lines and moving through the scene slowly. Yifan stops worrying when he realizes Zitao is really just here to run this over, and the nervous twisting feeling in his stomach goes away.

 

It takes them half an hour and four tries to get it right, but Yifan feels much more at ease than he had on set during the day; maybe it’s the way the fading sunlight outside blends into the warm glow of the hotel room, or the auditory balance of turning pages and even breathing and the occasional voices passing by outside, or the simple presence of Zitao being here with him after too many years.

 

It almost feels like everything has fallen into place, and for one fleeting moment, Yifan thinks he would be content to stay like this forever.

 

Yifan meets Zitao’s smiling eyes, but Zitao coughs lightly and looks away.

 

“Thank you,” Zitao says, closing his script and standing up. His hair falls over his forehead, hiding away his eyes. “See you tomorrow.”

 

Yifan watches him leave.

 

Then he looks down at his script, still laid out on the table, now with a blue sticky note stuck to the open page, and his heart lifts.

 

-

 

Yifan and Zitao pass the scene on their first take the next morning, and even the director is pleasantly surprised. It puts the cast in a collectively eager mood, and by some positive chain effect, filming wraps up earlier enough than scheduled that Yifan can pick up Wanyu from the airport.

“Hey,” Yifan suddenly says to Zitao as they wait outside the filming site, Yifan for an available cab to the airport and Zitao for his assistant. “Good job today.”

 

The fiery gleam of the sun that’s slipping west is comforting on their skin, and Yifan thinks it’s okay to say this to him now.

 

“You too,” Zitao says. He only looks over briefly, but the smile in his voice makes Yifan feel warmer than the sunset.

 

Zitao’s assistant pulls up then, and Yifan gets into a cab a few minutes after.

 

“Guilin International Airport,” he says.

 

Then he leans his head against the window and texts Wanyu: “If I asked him to start all over from the beginning, like we never ever knew each other, do you think he would say yes?”

 

-

 

“What did you do?” Wanyu demands when she sees him. “What do you mean, ask him to start over? Did you get into a fight?”

 

“What?” Yifan shoves her suitcase into the trunk of the cab and knocks her on the forehead. “Of course not, I’m a grown man who is mature and composed and can handle difficult situations professionally.”

 

“I’m sure,” Wanyu teases, getting into the passenger seat. “White House Hotel, please.”

 

Yifan mumbles something like “whose side are you on” and remains silent for the ride to the hotel.

 

After Wanyu checks in, they walk five minutes down the street and eat at a dumpling place.

 

Yifan doesn’t bring up Zitao again, and Wanyu doesn’t ask.

 

-

 

The last scene to be filmed before leaving Guilin is the film’s greatest emotional climax. 

 

‘Xuqing’ returns to the woods and finds ‘Hesong’ dead by the lake, knife slashes crossing his chest, and he gathers him in his arms and loses it.

 

Yifan is nervous the night before, because he wants to do this right and because he has no choice otherwise.

 

He gets into bed before midnight but tosses and turns until almost two, thinking about ‘Xuqing’ and ‘Hesong’ and Zitao and everything that should be but isn’t. These thoughts collide and drift apart over and over again, and between the empty spaces, Yifan finally finds sleep.

 

-

 

“I need more than acting, okay?” The director explains her expectations to Yifan as the scene is set up. “You’ve been working well with ‘Xuqing’ so far, and I can see him coming alive as a character, but I need even more than that this time. ‘Hesong’ is the only thing that makes you human, and when he dies, you do too. Cut yourself open to the camera and make yourself vulnerable - ‘Hesong’ must be the only thing you can see.”

 

“Okay,” Yifan exhales. “I can do that.”

 

“I’ll give you a few minutes here,” the director says. “The cameras are all rolling, go when you’re ready.”

 

Yifan realizes when she walks away that the director believes he can pass this scene on his first take; that’s why, when he looks around, nobody is holding a clapboard at the ready, and for the first time in his acting career, the “action” command is left to him.

 

He closes his eyes and opens them again, focusing only on Zitao halfway across the filming site, laying still by the lake.

 

The water is placid, the sky is aglow with dying light, and when Yifan runs towards him, he is not himself.

 

He hears something explode inside him, and it’s all the goodbyes he has ever said. That year he said goodbye to home and boarded a plane to Canada with his mother, that year he said goodbye to his mother and left for Korea without looking back, that year he said goodbye with his arms spread out behind the eleven boys who had become his brothers on the concert they have dreamed of together for too long - the same year he looked out the airplane window as he rose higher and higher above the glittering streets of Seoul, flying towards his own freedom, leaving behind seven years of blood and sweat and those bright-eyed boys.

 

And when he holds Zitao in his hands and looks up at the dying sky and screams his broken heart, it’s the nights he has spent wondering how on earth he got here, lying awake and counting sheep that keep running away, wishing he could just be a floating star in the night, shining light without having to try.

 

When everything but the whirring aerial cameras finally go silent and he hears the director shout “cut” and Zitao sits up, Yifan sees the screenwriter’s eyes sparkling with happiness and tears both.

 

“Thank you,” the screenwriter says, clasping Yifan’s hands. “That was perfect.”

 

And this is more valuable to Yifan than anything else.

 

-

 

Halfway into the flight back to Shanghai, Yifan looks over at Zitao. He’s asleep, his blanket slipping off him, and without thinking, Yifan reaches across the aisle to tuck it higher.

 

The cast parts at the airport. They are headed out of the city again in a few days, this time for Dunhuang. 

 

Yifan stays at home until then, but his mind often wanders off to Zitao. Maybe he misses him, or maybe he misses the proud boy he left in Korea eight years ago.

 

For and despite their pride and self-regard, they have forgiven each other long ago.

 

Yifan just doesn’t know what he can do.

 

-

 

Zitao flies out to Dunhuang on a separate flight from the cast, and that both relieves and disappoints Yifan.

 

“Are you looking for him?” Wanyu pulls Yifan’s suitcase further ahead of him so he doesn’t walk distractedly into it. She looks down at her watch. “It’s eight right now, so we’ll get to Dunhuang mid-afternoon, and Zitao-ge will be at the hotel before tomorrow.”

 

“Okay,” Yifan says, not bothering to deny it. A little pause, and he looks at her over the top of his sunglasses. “I’m hungry.”

 

“You didn’t have breakfast?”

 

“No.”

 

“Here,” Wanyu hands her suitcase over to Yifan and opens her backpack, pulling out a big paper bag. “I was worried you would want to eat on the airplane, but you can have some of this for breakfast instead.”

 

“I should raise your pay,” Yifan says, infinitely grateful. He takes the paper bag and gives her suitcase back, opening the bag and finding a sizable container of cut-up fruit, a sealed bag of oven-baked chips, and two wrapped muffins. He pretends to cry into the bag. “Thank you for feeding me so well.”

 

“Yes, raise my pay.”

 

After the cast boards the plane, Yifan spends some time reading over the script. While he had lost sleep over that one scene in Guilin and Zitao only had to play dead, what they are filming in Dunhuang centers mostly around Zitao, and involves many more actors.

 

‘Hesong’s’ life before running away into the woods will be filmed there, and so will ‘Xuqing’s’ trips into town, but it’s quite evident which of the two leading actors more of the burden falls on.

 

Yifan eats a muffin and some of the fruit, then stretches out his legs and opens his laptop, plugging in his earbuds to watch a movie he’d downloaded last night.

 

He finds some peace and quiet during the seven-hour flight, a pleasing and welcome surprise that he never imagines would precede the panic and hasty drive to the hospital the following day.

 

-

 

“What happened?”

 

“I don’t know, he was running, and - ”

 

“He hit his head on the machines?”

 

“Is this his blood?”

 

“Call an ambulance - ”

 

“It’s faster to drive him there!”

 

“Leave everything, just get him into the van - ”

 

“Zitao, Zitao? Don’t close your eyes!”

 

Yifan hadn’t been on set when it happened. He hears about it from Wanyu, who had dialed him and come running down the hallway to his hotel room.

 

“Zitao-ge’s in the hospital, he was filming and hit his head and - ”

 

Yifan almost loses his mind.

 

He doesn’t remember how he gets to the hospital - he only remembers clasping his hands together tightly to stop them from shaking, and wishing over and over again the cab would go faster.

 

He doesn’t remember who else is there when he gets to the hospital either, but when that red light over the doorframe finally goes gray, Yifan remembers standing up and his knees nearly giving out.

 

“He’s okay,” the doctor says, unhooking his mouth mask from one ear.

 

The doctor keeps talking, but “he’s okay” is all that Yifan hears.

 

-

 

It’s nighttime when Zitao wakes up with an IV needle taped to the back of his hand and a bandage wrapped around his head, and Yifan is the only one there.

 

He’s sitting on a chair by the bed, clumsily slicing a mango, and there’s a pile of fruit on the small table next to him that he had asked Wanyu to buy. He hadn’t wanted to leave the hospital this afternoon, in case Zitao woke up while he was gone.

 

Yifan’s hands stop now and he watches as Zitao raises one hand and shuffles lightly through them, seeing a pocket of longans, more mangoes, peaches, grapes, a dragonfruit, and a quarter of a watermelon.

 

Time stands still, and all that punctuates the quiet is their breathing and their heartbeats.

 

“Do you feel sorry for me?” Zitao asks. 

 

His voice is as soft as that night in Guilin, but this time, it cuts Yifan to the bone.

 

Yifan’s heart tightens painfully. He doesn’t know what to say, so he touches his hair, hands him the badly sliced mango, and leaves the hospital room.

 

I’m sorry, he thinks, walking slowly down the hallway.  I’m apologizing to you now, can you hear me?

 

Later that night, as he’s staring up at the ceiling of his hotel room, bathed in the soft glow of the overhead lights, he receives a text from an unfamiliar number.

 

“I forgive you,” it says simply, and it almost brings Yifan to tears.

 

It’s been nine summers.

 

-

 

Yifan visits the hospital every chance he gets over the next few days. Sometimes it’s in the afternoon when late August sunshine is spilling all over the white hallways, but other times, it’s late into the night and Yifan comes with tired eyes, his footsteps echoing as he walks.

 

If Zitao is awake, Yifan tells him about his day and peels him fruit until Zitao says he doesn’t want to eat anymore; if Zitao has fallen asleep, Yifan sits on a chair and closes his eyes too.

 

Once, Yifan takes out his earbuds and hands one to Zitao, plugging them into his phone.

 

“Your Yixing-ge released a new music video today,” he says, eyes crinkling as he shakes his head. “EXO plays these ridiculous cameos - here it is. Can you believe them? Even Sehun is almost thirty and Kyungsoo just came home from the military, but they’re all acting like kids…”

 

“Sit here.” Zitao shifts over in his bed and pats the empty space next to him. “I can’t see.”

 

“Oh, okay.”

 

They don’t speak much, but they know they are growing back together.

 

-

 

Almost the whole cast drives up to the hospital the day Zitao is discharged, and his arms are shoved full with fruits from street booths and wildflowers picked from the side of the road. Yifan smiles and waves at him from the outermost ring of the crowd, showered in sunlight.

 

There are no fans waving banners or shouting his name, no cameras flashing or microphones asking for his attention, but Zitao feels so loved.

 

The day Zitao returns to filming, Wanyu starts giving Yifan pockets of vitamins along with his morning coffee. He assumes Wanyu had bought them for him, until he bumps into Zitao one day leaving his room and sees him holding a handful.

 

Zitao quickly hides his hands behind his back, and one pocket falls to the carpeted floor.

 

“What are those?” Yifan asks, bending down to pick it up for him. He examines it. “Hey, my assistant gives me these in the morning.”

 

He looks up at Zitao, who avoids Yifan’s eyes when he reaches out to take the pocket back.

 

“Oh. Are they from you?”

 

“My - ” Zitao clears his throat. “My fans said these were good for headaches from lack of sleep. They worked for me, so I wanted to give you some too.”

 

“Can you imagine what your fans would say if they found out you were doing this?” Yifan can’t help but laugh, and when he raises one hand to ruffle Zitao’s hair, he smiles and doesn’t duck away. They stand there in the hotel hallway, face to face. “I wish they knew.”

 

I wish the whole world knew that we are here again, after so many years.

 

-

 

The filming schedule is delayed by almost a week, so the cast winds up staying in Dunhuang for three weeks instead of two. A flight back to Shanghai is booked for early in the morning, and the director invites everyone out to dinner the night they land.

 

“Our last filming stop is Seattle in a week,” she says, raising her glass. “‘Sentimentalist’ has had its ups and downs, but I’m grateful and beyond honoured to be working with such a wonderful team. Thank you, everyone.”

 

There’s a sense of finality to the dinner even though the cast is headed for the United States in a week together, and Yifan drinks a few glasses too much at the end of the night.

 

Wanyu had gone home after dropping off Yifan at the restaurant, and Zitao starts to panic when he realizes there’s nobody in the room he can ask for her number.

 

Yifan is very civil when he’s drunk, but he’s also very useless.

 

“Can you unlock your phone?” Zitao asks quietly. “I need to call your assistant..”

 

Yifan puts his head down on the table, knocking over an empty beer bottle.

 

“Where do you live?” Zitao tries again. “I’ll drive you home.”

 

Yifan puts the hood of his jacket over his head.

 

“Do you have family and friends in Shanghai right now? I’ll drive you there.”

 

“My mom,” Yifan mumbles into his own arm.

 

“Where does your mom live?”

 

“Guangzhou.”

 

“ … ”

 

Zitao ends up hauling Yifan out of the restaurant and driving him back to his house. Zitao keeps making conversation to keep Yifan awake, and although it usually falls flat, Yifan does say something halfway substantial when Zitao’s dragging him out of the car.

 

“Tao’s house?” Yifan suddenly asks, waving his arm in the general direction of the house.

 

“Tao’s house,” Zitao confirms, carrying most of Yifan’s weight as they walk slowly up the paved stone steps.

 

“Your girlfriend,” Yifan says around his own tongue. “Inside?”

 

“I - ” Zitao almost drops his key. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

 

“Good,” Yifan slurs after a short pause. “That’s good.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

Yifan smiles and slumps back over Zitao’s shoulder.

 

It takes Zitao a solid fifteen minutes to get Yifan up the stairs and into the bathroom, where he soaks a towel in hot water and wipes Yifan’s face and neck and arms with it before getting him into bed.

 

Zitao’s hand hovers over the light switch for a moment, his eye catching on Yifan, who’s beginning to drift off. Yifan looks younger when he’s asleep, and Zitao suddenly can’t look away.

 

He isn’t thinking when he leans over Yifan and brushes his hair aside to kiss his forehead, something Yifan used to do with him a long, long time ago. He turns off the light and lies down after that.

 

Somewhere between sleep and awake, Yifan hears a soft voice say, “Let’s be happy this time. I won’t be a child anymore, I promise.”

 

Yifan is astounded when he wakes up to Zitao.

 

“Good morning,” Zitao says hoarsely.

 

“Hi,” Yifan says. He lifts the covers to check his clothes. “I didn’t do anything to you last night that I have to take responsibility for, did I?”

 

Zitao laughs, and Yifan swears he sees sunlight pulsing through him.

 

-

 

They spend nearly the whole week together, as if trying to make up for lost time.

 

“Ge,” Zitao says one afternoon, elbowing him in the side. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I knew it!” Yifan grabs the bag of chips out of Zitao’s hands and kicks him off the couch. “You ate the last cheese crackers Wanyu made!”

 

And that’s his own silly way of saying, “I forgive you.”

 

-

 

The cast lands in Seattle at five, and the sun is just starting to rise. It’s quite a sight, and Yifan shakes Zitao awake as the plane dips through the clouds.

 

“Tao,” he says quietly, pointing out the airplane window and leaning back so Zitao can see. “Sunrise.”

 

“Whoa,” Zitao rubs his eyes and fumbles to get his phone out. “I almost missed it.”

 

Zitao gets out of his seat and leans over Yifan to get a better shot, but Yifan is distracted by the ardent gleam cast over Zitao’s handsome face.

 

“Why are you looking at me?” Zitao asks, putting away his phone and sitting back down in his seat. “Is there something on my face?”

 

“No,” Yifan coughs lightly, having been caught. He leans across the aisle with a faint smile and squeezes Zitao’s face in his hands. “You’re pretty.”

 

Zitao gapes at Yifan for a moment, then slaps his hands away and turns his back to him, pulling his blanket over his head. Yifan laughs softly as a soothing voice comes over the intercom, reminding passengers to stay seated and keep their seatbelts fastened.

 

Yifan is slowly getting used to how well Zitao has grown up, but his heart still fills to the brim when Zitao acts like this.

 

-

 

It’s noon by the time the cast finally settles into the hotel, and the director orders everyone to rest until tomorrow morning.

 

“Go to your room and sleep, okay?” Wanyu nags him. “Your fans beg me to knock you out to make you sleep every time they see new photos of you, they say your eye bags are half your face.”

 

“Okay, okay, I’ll sleep.”

 

Yifan does sleep, and he’s woken up by Zitao knocking on his door at nine that night.

 

“I’m hungry,” Zitao says when he opens the door. “Can we go out and look for food?”

 

“Sure,” Yifan says, stifling a yawn and waving Zitao in. “I’ll just get my jacket and my wallet.”

 

“I can’t believe it’s September already,” Zitao says as they head out into the streets. “This summer went by so quickly.”

 

“Yeah,” Yifan agrees. They walk in comfortable silence for a few minutes, down the street and around the corner. Yifan’s eyes light up when he sees an outdoor food court set up along a taped-off road, and he points it out to Zitao. “There’s a barbecue booth, should we eat?”

 

They make their way over to the booth, and Yifan orders nearly the whole menu. Neither he nor Zitao have eaten since they got off the plane that morning, and the smells of the food court only remind him how hungry he is.

 

When the small table between them is piled high with empty skewers and plastic bowls and the booth’s owner comes to take their payment, Yifan looks at Zitao and laughs, “He’ll be paying, miss.”

 

Zitao kicks him under the table, but pays as voluntold.

 

They keep wandering around even after eating, looking through display windows and stopping by every outdoor booth.

 

“Hey,” Zitao says suddenly, waving Yifan over to a big table of stuffed animals and secondhand paperback novels. “Look at this.”

 

It’s a gray stuffed wolf with a bell tied around its neck. Yifan pets it, and then turns back around to ruffle Zitao’s hair.

 

“You’re softer,” Yifan decides. He looks at the wolf again. “Do you want it?”

 

“No, that’s okay,” Zitao laughs. “I still have both of ours.” He points to a brightly lit clothing store a few steps away. “Let’s go look in there.”

 

As Zitao’s trying on an expensive-looking scarf, Yifan can’t help but say, “I can buy that for you, I have money now.”

 

“I know,” Zitao says, looking at him in the mirror. “I know, but I do too.”

 

It’s another gap Yifan knows he can’t rush to fix, but all he says is, “Am I still your ge or not?”

 

Zitao’s eyes crinkle in a smile and lets Yifan takes the scarf to the counter.

 

“Should we go back now?” Yifan asks, checking his phone. “It’s almost eleven.”

 

Zitao is just about to agree when a handful of kids turn the corner, shouting and cursing at every passerby. Yifan keeps Zitao on the other side of him and tries to get past them, but he’s shoved in the chest by a boy who’s reeking alcohol.

 

“They’re drunk,” he says to Zitao quietly, pulling him back. “Let’s just cross the street and get back to the hotel.”

 

The group keeps yelling nonsensical obscenities, and finally Zitao pushes Yifan off the curb and punches the boy in the stomach.

 

“Shut up,” he says simply. 

 

Yifan almost wants to laugh at the riotous reaction this elicits, but they’re broken up by patrolling officers that come running at the commotion. The kids are still making a racket, launching themselves at Zitao even with their wrists held back, and Yifan admits this doesn’t look good.

 

Zitao tries to explain over the noise, but he soon gives up and looks to Yifan for help.

 

“We were just walking,” Yifan says, trying to speak to one of the officers walking them all to the police station. “They came and they were yelling, and they pushed - ”

 

“And you got into a fight with them, sir?”

 

“No, they were drunk, we didn’t - ”

 

“Please cooperate with us when we get to the station, sir.”

 

Yifan gives Zitao a helpless look.

 

When they get to the station, the kids are taken into the back to test for alcohol consumption, and Yifan and Zitao stay out front to answer questions. By the time the two police officers working with them ask for someone to come down and “retrieve” them, it’s almost midnight.

 

“I’ll call my assistant,” Yifan says reluctantly. He dials Wanyu’s number, then sits down with Zitao on the bench to wait for her. He nudges him. “You okay?”

 

“I’m okay,” Zitao says, leaning back. He looks down at the scarf in his hands and then back up at Yifan, a barely detectable whine in his voice. “But they got my new scarf dirty.”

 

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Yifan says, smiling despite the way the night turned out. He can’t imagine how irritated he would be if he were here alone, but because Zitao is here with him, everything seems to be okay.

 

Wanyu shoves open the doors to the police station soon after, bringing a gust of wind inside with her.

 

“I’m here to get them,” she says to the officer behind the desk, pointing at Yifan and Zitao. “Sorry for all the trouble.”

 

“It wasn’t their fault this time around, just be careful at night.”

 

Wanyu thanks the officer and gives Yifan a look that he takes to mean “you can starve to death this month”. He quickly pulls Zitao up from the bench and they follow her out the door, their heads down as they wait for a cab to take them back to the hotel.

 

“Are you putting your heads down because you’re sorry?” Wanyu demands. “You should be sorry! Bailing two grown men out of a police station at twelve in the morning isn’t something I should have to do!”

 

“I’ve committed a sin worthy of death,” Yifan says, putting his forehead on her shoulder and pretending to cry. “You’re the best assistant in the world. I don’t deserve you.”

 

Wanyu shakes him off and mumbles something like “I demand compensation”, but Yifan sees the smile she’s fighting.

 

There's something in Seattle’s September night air, something gentle and sweet and forgiving, something that smells like old love and new beginnings, something that makes Yifan want to laugh and cry and shout all at once. When Yifan and Zitao part at their hotel rooms after apologizing the whole way to Wanyu, their eyes are bright and smiling.

 

I’m not afraid of anything to come, Yifan thinks bravely. I have him now.

 

[ epilogue]

 

Not much seems to have changed in the past few years, or at least not to Yifan. News and rumours come and go, fansites open and close, and he has his good days and his bad days. But now, when he comes home too late at night, Zitao will be there before him, making an obnoxious mess in the kitchen or curled up somewhere in the house, and it makes Yifan perfectly happy.

 

There is always a light on.


End file.
